The Apotheosis of Vernon Dursley
by OldSmoke
Summary: Lord Voldemort deploys his most devestating weapon yet in his war against Harry- Vernon Dursley. CH 4 up! To procure funds to bribe Ron with, Vernon attempts the unthinkable: A robbery of Gringotts! Special appearence by Celebrian. R&R!
1. Awakenio!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and friends belongs to J.K Rowling, not me.

By all rights, Vernon Dursley should have been a content man. Sunday evening just after dinner found him sitting on the living room chair at his home on 4 Privet Drive reading his newspaper and trying to focus on the relief over his insufferable wizard nephew Harry spending the rest of the summer holidays with the Weasly's and getting out of his hair for another semester. The only thing bothering him was the voice.

It had begun a few hours ago. At first it was no more than a whisper that made Vernon glance about to see who was calling his name. Over the course of the day it had increased in frequency, growing gradually from once every few hours to seemingly every other minute. At first he had tried ignoring it, like spilled water that would evaporate if left alone, but the voice had only become more persistent. His wife Petunia and his son Dudley had both gone to sleep earlier, leaving Vernon alone to face the nameless presence. Vernon glanced about the room, trying to catch a glimpse of someone crouched in the shadows or peeking around a corner. His hand were shaking, causing the newspaper he was holding to vibrate and rustle loudly.

Vernon stood up and reached over to turn on the electric fireplace-

And fell to his knees as an unbearable ache suddenly exploded In his head. In the background he could hear himself screaming. Vernon pushed his hands against the sides of his head- anything to try and stop the pain. The voice spoke again, clear and distinct inside his mind

….._Vernon…..I know you can hear me….._

He opened his eyes. No one was there in the room. Suddenly there was a great flash of light and standing there was a gaunt man, with blood-red eyes and skin the colour of palest milk. His mysterious visitor began speaking in a terrible, cold.

"Ahh, Vernon. My ace in the sleeve, my Manhattan Project, my trump card," he cackled, a horrible sound. "I had hoped it wouldn't have come to this, but Potter has proven to be more difficult than I anticipated." Through his torturous haze, Vernon recognized the name of his shameful nephew. The figure then pulled something out of his robes that greatly alarmed Vernon: a wand. He could only watch in horror as the wizard approached him with the magic weapon in hand.

"Fear not, Vernon" he assured as he raised it. "You're going to be very grateful, very shortly." The wizard then narrowed his eyes, lightly tapped the top of Vernon Dursley's head and performed the summoning charm: "Awakenio!"

The pain in his head vanished and was replaced by a sense of euphoria the likes of which Vernon had rarely felt before. Suddenly, his feet left the ground- he was…_levitating_! Not only that, but the dull and drab setting of 4 Privat drive had somehow been changed to an impressive expanse of galatic supernovas and glittering rainbow colours. [AN: Think the Sailor Moon transformation scenes.] A huge wave of power surged across him and Vernon saw his body begin to…glow with white light. He began to spin around, faster and faster until all he saw was a blur of light and colour. Then, it all came flooding back to him in a rush that no drug could hope to match. His memories…his powers…they returned his long-dormant true self re-awakened. Vernon's body began to shrink and contract to it's original form. Gone was his disgusting pot belly, replaced by a set of rock-hard abs tanned by the merciless Mediterranean sun. His eyes changed from boring brown to a blue the colour of the icy arctic seas. His raunchy porn-star moustache vanished. His dirty, unkempt hair grew down to his shoulders and automatically tied itself into a ponytail. He height shrunk down to just slightly above a seventeen year-old's average. He opened his eyes.

"I. AM. VERNON!," he shouted in a voice that rocked the houses surrounding 4 Privet Drive with its raw intensity. In the skies above the nondescript suburban home a mighty thunderbolt Zeus himself would have been proud of pierced the stillness of the night. 300 miles away, though he did not know why, Albus Dumbledore awoke from his sleep screaming. With the transformation complete, the living room of the Dursley home returned to normal. Vernon kneeled before his lord and master, Voldemort.

"Well, Vernon. Your return has lost none of its grandeur," Voldemort said with a light chuckle.

"My lord, I live to serve you."

"And serve me you shall. You are to infiltrate Hogwarts and slay my mortal opponent, The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter." His voiced quivered with rage at the mention of the hated name.

"Yes, my Lord," Vernon affirmed. "But…I understand that Potter is not to be underestimated, but is a simple assassination mission not an inefficient use of my considerable powers?"

"Ordinarily, yes, but my spies and sympathizers within Hogwarts (and there are many) have informed me that Dumbledore has somehow placed Harry under the protection of a charm that _renders him invulnerable to all attack magic_." At this Vernon looked up from his position, a question in his piercing blue eyes. Voldemort answered it before he could speak. "Yes Vernon, even to your powers. Ordinarily this would spell disaster for us but my sources divulged the one way to bypass it: It doesn't protect the user from magic he casts on himself."

"You mean…?"

"Yes. Vernon, you are to change Potter's life decisively for the worse. In Muggleman's terms, you are to make it a living hell and keep it up until he has no choice to turn his wand on himself."

"I understand, Lord Voldemort."

"Good. I expect mighty deeds of you, Vernon." There was a flash of light as the Dark Lord Disparated out of 4 Privet Drive. Vernon stood up and took in a deep breath. He could feel the power of 1000 enraged wizards bellowing for through his veins. His mind began with racing with supercomputer efficiency working out the most efficient way to carry out the task his master had assigned-

"Vernon! What's all that racket!?" a woman called from upstairs. Vernon turned. It was his useless Muggle wife. Doubtless she and his fat piggy of a son would come down to investigate. A few moments they appeared at the stairs, dressed in their pyjamas and peering curiously at the wizard their Patriarch had become.

Vernon licked his lips. Fresh meat.

%%%%%

With a flush, the last of Petunia and Dudley's body parts swirled down the toilet bowl and into the depths of the Surrey sewer system. He dusted his hands in satisfaction and stepped back into the living room.

"How silly of me- I'd nearly forgotten," he said out loud to the empty room. "A wizard's not much good without his wand, is he?," Vernon thrust out his hand and screamed "Accio Gustav II Adolf!" Thousands of miles away, his wand, named for the Swedish dictator-king who donated smallpox-infected blankets that cruelly spread disease amongst the peace-loving Hapsburg tribe during the Thirty Years War, quivered and shook where it lay on the ocean floor and sped towards its master. Faster and faster its speed became after it rose above the waves. Speeding overland, it pierced anything and anyone in the way to its master- concrete and steel, flesh and bone. At last, Gustav II Adolf smashed through the Dursley house wall and into the waiting hand of its master. A split second later a there was a sonic boom as the sound at last caught up to the speeding stick.

Gustav II Adolf was verily a sight to behold. Carved from the sacred tree Yggdrasil and powered by an angel feather, Vernon's wand had gems of such beauty and wealth that the mere sight of them caused Muggle women to faint. Along the wand's side was its name written in golden-platinum letters.

As for its origins, it was assembled by an expelled member of Gandalf's order, a wizard whose power was so mighty that it made the Grey Pilgrim look like a level 1 newbie in comparison. The wand made its way to the Harry Potter universe by means of an inter-fandom traveller and eventually into Vernon's ownership, where he now held it high, resplendent in all its glory.

%%%%%

Several days later, Vernon was sitting in a Hogwart's Express compartment, resting his cheek against his hand and absently watching Britangland's purple mountains and amber waves of grain speed by. Seated next to him was a little first-year boy with a golden-blond hair and rosy-red apple cheeks and big green eyes that were staring intensely at Vernon's wand in its leather holster at his side. The temptation at last became too much, and he reached forward to touch the awesome wizard weapon.

Vernon slapped the boy's hand without looking away from the window.

"Don't touch the Adolf." A few moments later he turned aside to stretch and noticed that the slight swat he had dealt the boy had killed him instantly.

"Oh, for the love of…," Vernon grumbled. The boy was slumped in his seat with his eyes staring sightlessly at the train ceiling. Vernon placed his hands on the his forehead and shouted "Vivera Ressurectio!" Listening closely, one could hear the sound of organs and choir music as the boy's soul descended from heaven and return to his body. After a moment, his corpse opened his eyes and looked around at his surroundings in wonderment. He suddenly seemed to remember what happened, as he ran out of the compartment in tears.

"That's impossible!," cried a girl sitting across the aisle who had witnessed the whole thing. "No magic can wake the dead!"

"It's possible because it wasn't magic I used," Vernon explained matter-of-factly. "It was a miracle."

"_Oh_. Ok," she said understandably before returning to the book she had been reading. Vernon was scarcely able to enjoy a moment's peace before the compartment door slid open and three figures stepped in. Vernon caught a glimpse of them as they swaggered down the aisle. Draco Malfoy, followed as always by Goyle and Crabbe. Vernon sat back in his seat, disappointed. He'd hoped it had been Harry who'd opened the door. As for Malfoy, he perhaps had the attitude of a potential death eater, attracting the attention of Voldemort himself, but after being discreetly monitored, he was judged unfit on the grounds of his cowardice and poor grades. Vernon returned to staring out the window. He didn't look back when he sensed the three Slytherins standing in the aisle by his seat.

"Hold up," came Malfoy's lazy drawl. "Never seen you before, and you're too old to be a first year. What's your name?" Vernon stretched his hands behind his head and continued watching the countryside run past.

"Hey! I'm talking to you! Draco said loudly with a hint of anger. Vernon turned his head leisurely to face the three.

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?," he asked. Draco, caught off guard by this stranger's lazy indifference.

"Look, I'm Draco Malfoy, son of the wealthy and influential Lucius Malfoy. Now kindly tell me your name in return." Vernon looked over Draco, his clothes, his face, then stared into his eyes.

"No." Vernon enjoyed watching Draco's pale face flush red with anger.

"W-Why not?" he stammered.

"You don't meet my standards," he explained politely," I simply don't like you enough to tell you my name." Vernon's lips curled into a grin. Time to push some buttons. "The wealthy and influential Lucius Malfoy, eh? I doubt his money and power can help him when it's shower time at Azkaban." Draco's eyes opened wide. His mouth quivered as he searched his head for someway to answer this insult on his family's honour. Words must have failed him, for the pale boy reached for his wand. A little annihilation would relive the boredom of the long train ride nicely, Vernon thought as his hand snatched Gustav II Adolf out of its holster and raised it above his head.

"Avada-" he began, looking forward to sending doing away with these wannabe Death Eaters. Hell, he might as well go for a clean sweep and take out the whole compartment. "Khe-" A cold voice inside Vernon's mind interrupted the terrible fury he was on the verge of unleashing, and indeed saved the lives of everyone riding that compartment of The Hogwart's Express. It was the voice of none other than Voldemort

_ Dursley, do no such thing._

My Lord, why?, he protested. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle stared in astonishment as the boy suddenly lowered his wand and began staring off into the distance. Draco stepped forward and cautiously waved his hand in front of Vernon's eyes. No reaction.

__

It would draw too much attention to yourself if you were to single-handily slaughter everyone in that compartment. You may do as you may with those boys, but no bodies! Do I make myself clear?

Yes, Vernon sighed. He snapped back to attention, startling the three Slytherins.

"Expelliarmus!," Vernon shouted three times in quick succession. Their wands flew out of their hands and clattered against the compartment wall before falling to the floor. "Don't worry lads," Vernon began with a laugh. "While I can't get too rough, I think we'll be able to have some fun." Draco, Goyle and Crabbe stepped back as he assumed the stance of the fighting style the pacifist Franciscan monks of St. Ann's Parish had taught him. A battle cry erupted from him just before he unleashed his non-lethal fury: "Baka!"

%%%%%

The boy's mouth dropped open in surprise when he opened the compartment door. Sprawled over the curve of a seat top was an unconscious Goyle. Crabbe's head had somehow burst through the compartment ceiling and become caught in it. His dangling lower body struggled unsuccessfully to free it. And in the aisle, a teenage boy dressed in a Hogwart's uniform with his brown hair tied in a ponytailed, had his hated rival Draco Malfoy in a headlock.

Harry Potter gasped.

The stranger (and Draco) turned around to face him. His eyes widened. His arms went to his sides. Draco, more dead than alive, slumped to the floor.

Vernon stared at Harry. Here was the boy he was going to make miserable. A smile spread like disease across his lips. Inflate his sister Marge, would he?

"Erm…," Harry began, "is everything all right in here?"

"Just fine," Vernon replied courteously. "Me, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were just having a discussion over the whole Iraq affair and things got a bit heated when Goyle called Blair a war criminal. Isn't that right, Draco?" He nudged Draco's prone form with his solid-gold buckled shoe.

"Merp!" a semi-conscious Draco squeaked.

"Well, if you say so. By the way, we've arrived at Hogwart's station," Harry informed. Vernon glanced out the window.

"Why, so we have," he remarked. Harry turned to leave. "Harry, one last thing." He turned around.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to be your new best friend." Harry's expression scrunched up in confusion. He was on the verge of asking a question when a voice from the other compartment interrupted him.

"Harry, come on. We're gonna miss the sorting!" Voldemort's foe looked back briefly before opening the door and leaving. It was only on the carriage ride to the castle itself that he realized the stranger had called him by his name.

%%%%%

Vernon was aware of the need for him to be sorted into one of the four houses, and for this reason walked followed the first years as Hagrid herded them into the boats for the lake crossing. The groundskeeper gave him an odd look but said nothing, thus Vernon was able to climb into a boat with three other boys who looked at him uneasily during the trip. Finally, one had the courage to speak up.

"Aren't you a little…_old_ for a first year?"

"No, I'm just tall for my age," Vernon answered.

"_Oh_."

The Hogwarts castle at last came into view. Vernon cracked his knuckles. Soon.

%%%%%

Before long, Vernon found himself standing amongst the first years in the Great Hall as Professor McGonagall entered the room with the Sorting Hat and its stool. He tapped his foot as he waited for the sorting song to begin. The tattered hat looked even more worn than usual, as though the slightest touch would cause its stitching to fall apart. It quivered and at last began its swan sorting song.

__

Many a year ago when I was sewn,

The wizard world had split

Over who was greatest amongst our own:

Which students were magically the most fit?

Perhaps they were in Ravenclaw,

Who use brains to achieve their aims

And thence achieve rich fame.

Yet let us not forget in Gryffindor, so noble.

But if you look down on the honest way

Then it is in devious Slytherin

where succeed you may!

Yet let us forget Hufflepuff's fine souls

While neither neglecting the old saying:

'Hoc quod patrium optabamus oramouls'

That is, 'long saddened is he with a good heart!'

Though long I am getting in age

I can only hope this song has given advice sage.

Now all that's left is to put me own

And on to your destiny

And may your successes be many!

Vernon politely applauded along with the rest of the first years. Looking about the room, he saw older students sitting among the tables pointing at him and whispering to their friends. He wasn't difficult to spot, the way he towered over the first years he was standing amongst. Let them whisper and wonder, Vernon thought. They be talking about me plenty more in the future.

"Simon, Armsmith," Professor McGonagall called out." Thus began the sorting. One by one the first years put the hat on, had their house called out by the hat and ran over to join their respective table. Following "Yardmen, Charles's" sorting, McGonagall began to fold up the parchment with the names of the new students on it. Vernon saw this and made his way through the crowd of first years, knocking more than a few of them to the floor.

"Erm, excuse me," he began when he reached her. "I don't believe my name was called."

"Hm. That's odd," she said. "And you are?" Vernon smiled. He had came up with a pseudonym so clever that no one, not Harry, not Dumbledore would ever suspect.

__

"Dernon Vursley."

"You're not on the list," McGonagall observed as she looked over the parchment.

"I'm an exchange student," Vernon said in the flawless American English he had been speaking ever since boarding the Hogwart's express. "From New York's Gerald Brosseau Gardner Wizarding Community College." McGonagall sighed and rolled her eyes. "Another Yank? Good heavens, the already sizable American community here gets even larger." She gestured to where a row of strikingly beautiful girls sporting hair and eyes of every shade and tint sat. Some had piercings, some wore Goth makeup. Vernon couldn't put his finger on It, but they all seemed oddly out of place. Professor McGonagall spoke up. "Very well, go get sorted."

Vernon took his time walking towards the hat. He rubbed his hands together as he came closer and closer. The hat began to shake as he reached for it. He sat on the stool, raised the hat and lowered it onto his head-

__

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGG!!!," the Sorting Hat screamed out as it frantically tried to leap off of Vernon's head. Vernon's hands tightened their grip, his fingers digging into the Hat's rough fabric. There was a sound like a match igniting, then to the enormous surprise of the entire school, the Sorting Hat spontaneously burst into flames. Now the sound of cackling fire was added to the high-pitched shrieking of the Hat. After several agonizing (for the hat) moments, Vernon at last stood up and threw the charred chapeau to the floor, where the flames burnt themselves out, revealing a pile of ashes where the Sorting Hat had once been. A crowd gathered around it, that was soon parted by none other than Dumbledore himself.

"Most unusual. What happened?," he asked, staring at the remains on the floor.

"I-I don't know, Headmaster," he said innocently. "I put it on and it started yelling then set itself on fire."

"Indeed. Tell me…?"

__

"Dernon."

"Why you kept holding on to the Hat?"

"Oh, well, I reckon I was paralysed with fear, Sir," Vernon explained." It's not everyday the hat on your head spontaneously combusts."

"Truer words were never spoken. Mmh. Perhaps it's the dry weather we've been having." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, kindly put in an order for a new Sorting Hat." He then turned back to Vernon. "There's still the matter of your house-"

"Oh, don't worry, Sir. In the Hat's last moments, I think I heard it wheeze out 'Slytherin!'".

"Ah, splendid. Well then, welcome to Hogwart's!," Dumbledore said jovially. As Vernon made his way to the Slytherin table, he caught sight of a very distressed looking Draco Malfoy sporting facial bandages and a black eye. Vernon grinned and flashed him a thumbs-up. Draco hunched over and covered his face with his hands.

Vernon sat back and daydreamed through Dumbledore's boring speech and ate hungrily when the food was served at last. There was much work ahead of him.


	2. Fancy a Game of Quidditch, Harry?

The next few days were quiet ones for Vernon. He attended classes with the sixth year Slytherins, though most of his classroom time was spent staring at the ceiling and plotting his first move against Harry. Mind you, his ponderings didn't detract from his "studies." Far from it. Vernon's encyclopaedia-like knowledge of all things magical allowed him to achieve test scores that were nothing less than miraculous- much to Hermione's horror.

"137%!?," she gasped when she caught a glimpse of his newly-corrected Transfiguration test. "Mine was only 108%! How did you…?"

"Hours of study and dedication, that's how," he lied nonchalantly. It was pretty much impossible for Vernon not to put the other students to shame when he had centuries worth of knowledge stored in the vast hyper efficient regions of his razor-sharp mind.

"But I already do that!" Hermione whined when she heard his answer.

"Well, I guess some people are just natural scholars," he said with a shrug and a smile before walking towards the library.

%%%%%

In search of a beginning to his campaign to drive Harry to suicide, Vernon decided to consult Sun-Zoo's classic book of strategy, _War Art_. He checked it from the library's Muggle Literature section and sat down to flip through its pages. None of the book's strategies seemed particularly useful. He would turn a page, dismiss the book's suggestions as too simple, too obvious, not devastating enough, and so. Vernon was about to give up and return it when he saw a strategy he had overlooked. It was titled "Announcing Your Presence Across the Green Valleys of Your Foe."

_When beginning a campaign against your enemy, the first blow must be struck under the guise of peace. By besting him at a friendly competition, his balance is robbed and thus leaving him susceptible to your first true strike. Thus it is said and thus it is true._

Leaving the library, Vernon felt a new respect for Muggle writings within him. Pushing open the door, he noticed a familiar blonde first year boy standing there, apparently waiting for a friend. He looked up and caught sight of Vernon standing before him. His eyes opened wide in recognition. He squeaked in surprise and fled down the hall in a desperate attempt to escape Vernon. Back by the library door, an amused Vernon decided to have some fun. He would give the boy a five-second head start.

"One…" The boy kept running, the paintings along the hall turning their heads to watch him dash.

"Two…" A crowd of second years parted just in the nick of time to let him pass through without being knocked over like bowling pins.

"Three…" A corridor door opened, and out stepped Draco and Professor Snape, deep in conversation. Neither noticed the boy who'd just ran past them.

"Four…" Vernon shifted into his running stance and-"Five!"- dashed after the boy with cheetah-like speed. With his magically-enhanced muscles pumping and straining, the lad had no chance of escape. Draco and Snape looked up, too late, to see a blur approaching them with alarming velocity. Pow! Harry's two least favourite people at Hogwart's were smashed like a neoconservative at a Michael Moore rally. Vernon, not slowed in the slightest, sped on. Closer and closer the little boy became as he caught up. Finally, Vernon pounced and tackled him to the floor. Instantly he stood to his feet and yanked the boy up.

"Let me go! Let me go!" he protested while struggling vainly against Vernon's steel grip on his arm.

"Nothing like a good jog to get the blood flowing!," Vernon declared before addressing his captive. "Well, if it isn't my seatmate from the train," Vernon said with a chuckle. "Stop struggling. If anything, you should be happy to see me. After all, if it weren't for me, you and I wouldn't be talking right now." This seemed to have an effect on the boy. He paused to consider his words, then seemed to decide Vernon wasn't out to get him. "Good," continued Vernon, when the boy stopped trying to break away. "Now that we're on more civil terms, what's your name?"

"T-Tommy Perkins," he stammered, apparently still a little nervous.

"Dernon Versley," Vernon returned. "Tommy, how would you like to do your new friend a favour?"

"I-I don't know…" An evil glint shone in Vernon's cold blue eyes.

"You won't go unrewarded." Tommy looked more co-operative. Vernon continued. "I need to find out some things about Harry Potter. You've heard of him? Good, good…"

%%%%%

The late summer breeze ruffled Vernon's uniform (made from a now-extinct species of silkworm) magnificently as he stood atop the tower housing the divination classroom and Professor Trelawny's quarters. From here, one could survey the entirety of Hogwart's environs- the Whomping Willow, Hagrid' Hut, the Lake, and the Quidditch Pitch, which Vernon was paying great attention to through omniocular lenses. Tommy's information had led him here, watching Harry zoom about on his Firebolt during team practise.

"Quidditch, eh?", he muttered. "I think I can accommodate you there." He lowered the omnioculars he'd been using and looked into the clear blue sky. "GRENDEL I SUMMON YOU!" Across the skies came the answering bird call of doom. Streaking towards him out of the horizon was Vernon's owl. Named for the undead serial killer who preyed on amorous teenagers in Anglosaxon England, Grendel was truly a magnificent creature. A purebred vulture owl [AN: think Draco's eagle owl but bigger and cooler] raised by the famed owl breeders of Westingmessexfordchestershire, Grendel gracefully descended from the skies to land on Vernon's shoulder.

"Ah Grendel, how long it's been," Vernon said affectionately, petting her soft head feathers. "Now listen, I need you to bring unto me the finest broom in all the land. There's a nice treat in it for you." Hearing this, the vulture owl took off and began speeding towards the southwest. Vernon looked back towards the Quidditch pitch, where practise was continuing Harry and the Gryffindor team. If all went according to plan, Harry was going to have a Quidditch game unlike any he'd played before.

%%%%%

Feiner Besen Arbiter Companee, factory floor, City of KarlLutherMarxheimfeldstadt, Bayernischereich State, Germany.

At long last it was finished. FBAC engineer Peter Ackermann put down his tools and stepped back to admire his work. The Sky Streaker mk 1 000 000 prototype he'd just completed was the broom that was going to render the competition's Firebolt obsolete. Superior in every way, the Firebolt was good for little else other than kindling compared to the Sky Streaker.

"Hey, Peter," a voice spoke from behind him. It was the factory foreman, Schmidt. "It's time for _der_ break," he informed before going over to another part of the floor.

"Ah, _danke,_" Peter replied. Crafting the Sky Streaker had been draining of both creative and physical talents and he was glad to stop. He walked over to a chair by the factory entrance. He reached into his pocket and produced a silver case which he opened and took a single paper cylinder twisted tightly at one end. He put it in his mouth, struck a match and lit it. "_ja…das ist ja toll_," Peter sighed as he took a hit. His fingers no longer ached from the arthritis. This particular batch was from the Rü hr valley, home to the finest and strongest herb in all the country. It was the loss of this plant that reason many Germans were pissed off when the region was occupied following World War One.

Peter's memory at this point became hazy, to the great frustration of the management when he later attempted to explain what had happened. There was the sound of breaking glass, an owl hoot, and when Peter looked up to see what was happening, The Sky Streaker had vanished. Through his inebriation, realized what had happened.

"Oh scheiß."

High above the factory, Grendel flew back towards Hogwart's with the Sky Streaker gripped in her talons. Over mountain and valley she flew until at last she reached the castle grounds. Vernon was waiting for her near the lake. He reached up and clasped the mighty broom as she landed on his should.

"Excellent. Everything's falling into place," Vernon said to himself. At that moment a familiar ginger-coloured cat with a brush-bottle tail wandered past. Grendel took off to chase after it, leaving Vernon alone to ponder his next move. "I'll have to see about the car rental…and then there's the uniform…"

%%%%%

The following day, as the Slytherins and Gryffindors were filing out of a particularly trying potions class in which Neville had added too much ground-up skrewt stinger to his cauldron, resulting in a gelatinous brew whose growth even Snape had a difficult time stopping. Neville had to stay after class, and the two were alone in there doing God knew what. Vernon walked over to match Harry's pace, unaccompanied by Ron or Hermione for once.

"Oi, Harry! Remember me?," asked Vernon in a tone that was pure friendship and innocence. "Dernon Versley. We met on the Hogwart's Express?"

"Right," said Harry acknowledging. An awkward pause. "Er, what can I do for you?"

"Well, seeing as how the Quidditch season is gonna start soon," began Vernon, "I was wondering whether you'd be willing to play a friendly game of Quidditch with us? Thursday afternoon after classes?" Harry paused, seemingly thinking the offer over.

"Thursday? Well, I'll have to make clear it with the rest of the team and book the Pitch with Madam Hooch, but I think we can do." Vernon smiled. Perfect.

"Great. Looking forward to it. See you there, Harry." The other boy nodded and continued onwards. Vernon then caught sight of Draco Malfoy. Vernon snuck up behind him and tapped the pale boy on the shoulder. Draco turned around to see who it was…and tried to run as fast as his legs could carry him when he did. Vernon's hand shot out and snagged his arm before he could get far.

"Sorry, but I've already had my morning jog and I don't care for another. Come now Draco, is that how you treat your friends? By running from them?," scolded Vernon."

"W-What do you want from me?," Draco whimpered as he shook with fright in Vernon's indefatigable grip.

"W-what do I want?" Vernon mocked. "Draco, really! This is a good, trust me! Think of it as an opportunity to add a very useful skill to your resume. Now, you know how Muggles get around using these things called cars, right? Good, good…"

As Vernon was persuading Draco, Hermione jogged up to where Harry was and asked: "Harry, have you seen Crookshanks anywhere? I can't seem to find him…"

%%%%%

Thursday afternoon after classes found the Gryffindor Quidditch team wondering if they'd been stood up. Classes had ended five minutes ago yet there was no sign of Vernon's team anywhere.

"What a waste of an evening," Ron complained said sadly. "I still haven't started Snape's love potion essay, you know, and it's due tomorrow!"

"I'm sure they're just late, Ron," Harry reassured.

"Hey, what's that?" team captain Angelina said as she pointed to the sky. At first, the object was no more than a dot. But as it approached the Quidditch pitch, it gradually took on the form of a pearl white limousine- a flying limousine, rather like the Mitsubishi Anglia Harry and Ron had stolen to get to Hogwart's for the second year after they'd missed the train. The limo began its descent, the Gryffindor watching it amazement as it landed on the opposite end where they were standing. The car turned to face them. Behind the tinted windows, the driver flicked off the ignition, cutting the roar of the engine. There was a click as the door opened and out stepped- Draco Malfoy in a chauffeur's uniform. Looking very uncomfortable, he walked without a word to the back and opened the door to let his passenger out. As he did, the team heard the booming beat of George Michael's 'Amazing' playing from the deluxe sound system just as the song reached the best part. [AN: It's near the of the end where's he's singing the chorus with the full accompaniment. Damn I love that song.]

At long last the limo passenger finally stepped out onto the Pitch. Vernon Dursley, holding a bat in one hand and the Sky Streaker in the other, approached the Gryffindor team standing on the other side. Behind him, Draco drove the car off and away into the afternoon sky. The team couldn't help themselves from staring at him. Vernon was dressed in a white-and-yellow Quidditch uniform interwoven with golden threads that actually glittered in the sunlight. In the chest were beautiful emeralds and sapphires arranged to spell out a single sparkling 'D'. So luxurious was Vernon's attire that the sight of it caused Ron 'Salvation Army' Weasley to vomit.

"Heil, heil, the gang's all here," Vernon said, breaking the silence that had fallen on the Gryffindor team. "Ready to start?"

"What are you getting at, 'start'? Where's the rest of your team?," questioned Angelina.

"I am the team," Vernon returned nonchalantly. There was a pause as the Gryffindors took in this information.

"You must be joking," Ron cut in. "One against seven? You're mad."

"Then it should be a quick and easy game, eh? A good bit of practise for the season," Vernon said with a grin. You blokes have no reason to refuse. Unless the famed Gryffindor team is…chicken?" That did it. Angelina stood up straight and turned to face the rest of the Gryffindors, her expression rigid with anger. "Come on team. _Nobody _calls us chickens."

A passing Argus Filch was happy to start the game by releasing the Bludger and Snitch and throwing up the Quaffle. Ordinarily, it would have amounted to suicide for a single player to take on an entire Quidditch team while simultaneously playing beater, seeker, chaser and seeker. But ordinarily, students weren't riding the Sky Streaker MK 1 000 000 broom. Ordinarily, students weren't Vernon Dursley. He few lazily around his end of the goal hoops, waiting for one of the other players to try to make a play with the Quaffle. Every so often he saw Harry speeding about, searching for the Snitch around the edges of the stadium. As he waited for the Gryffindors to make their move, he took out his anti-anti Muggle technology-jinxed CD player & headphones and began listening to Dio.

Ah, here were his first customers- Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell were speeding up to him, rapidly passing the Quaffle back and forth between them while flying about twelve feet apart. By watching it, Vernon's hyper efficient mind predicted the angle and speed at which the Quaffle was going to thrown at by Katie. Alicia passed it to her fellow chaser, who then threw it- only to be intercepted by Vernon. With the initiative his, Vernon sped off to the opposite end of the pitch, passing Angelina while doing so. Up ahead was Beater Andrew Kirke- and the Bludger. Kirke smacked it with his bat to send it hurtling towards Vernon. It would have collided with Vernon's head had he not executed a Sloth Grip Roll , leaving him riding upside-down. Vernon could feel the wind from the passing iron ball as it zipped past him. Faster and faster he flew. Ron and the Gryffindor goal hoops were ahead. As he flew, righted himself then pushed down on the Sky Streaker to begin a dive. Once Vernon was low enough he pulled back on it to begin climbing. The move was a success- he was now behind Ron who was turning around just now. Too late. Vernon threw the Quaffle through the middle goal hoop and scored the first goal of the game. It was Vernon 10, Gryffindor 0.

The spectators in the stands greeted this development with stunned silence. No one had expected Vernon to last but a few minutes, never mind _score_. The Gryffindors stopped where they where in mid-flight, staring at what had happened.

The game continued. The Gryffindors shook themselves out of their stupor and redoubled their efforts. The Quaffle came back into play and was quickly snatched up by Angelina herself, followed closely by Katie. Jack Slope shot the Bludger at Vernon from behind. Closer and closer the ball flew towards Vernon- until he turned deflected the ball, having been warned by the blessed amulet he wore that gave a 20 bonus to his awareness stat. With the Bludger at his and seeing the two chasers heading towards his goal, an idea struck him. Waiting for the exact moment, Vernon swung and hit the Bludger with his bat, aiming it just ahead of where Katie was flying towards. Onward the iron ball sped, heading just slightly ahead of where she was now. Vernon's calculations were correct- The Bludger and Katie Bell met at the same place at the same time. Pow! Katie was pitched forward off her broom- and onto the nearby Angelina. Both girls and the Quaffle landed in a heap on the ground. Fortunatly, the two girls were only a few meters off the ground when Vernon's shot had made them the unwitting participants of air dominoes.

Retaking the Quaffle, Vernon decide to put the Sky Streaker's to the test. Tucking the Quaffle under his left arm, his free hand gripped the handle as he prepared to fly to the opposite end. If his broom had an engine, it would have roared. Lowering his body close to the length of the broomstick, Vernon finally let it go. Alicia Spinnet would later recall Vernon's speeding for leaving afterimages as it screamed across the pitch. Ron saw his speeding form bearing down on him and screamed, barely moving out of the way in time. Vernon 20, Gryffindor 0.

After fifteen more minutes the gap between the two teams had widened to 40-0 (Vernon's favour) and he was getting bored. Vernon decided it was time to bring things to a close. Having caught the Quaffle from a misaimed throw by, he brought back his muscular arm and whipped it to the opposite end. Having temporarily gotten the Quaffle away from his goals, Vernon soared above the other players and scanned the pitch. It took him a few seconds to locate the Snitch- it was fluttering almost at ground level by the Hufflepuff stands. Vernon flew back down and saw that Harry was moving in on it as well. Vernon adjusted his height to the Snitch's level and positioned himself directly across from Harry, who was flying as fast as his inferior Firebolt could fly him, his hand outstretched, desperately try to get to it before Vernon. Vernon grinned and drew back his bat as Harry came closer and closer. Vernon reached it first-

Crack! Vernon swung and hit a home run. Harry seemed to have seen what had happened and tried to reverse- too late. The Snitch struck Harry in the chest, its force knocking him clean off his broom. Vernon quickly moved and closed his fist around the golden ball before it could escape. It was over.

Down and down tumbled the Boy Who Lived, his descent met by the green soil of the Pitch.

Vernon was the first at his side.

"Harry! Harry! I'm so sorry!," he wailed. "I thought it was the Bludger I was hitting! And I shouldn't have it so hard…" The Gryffindor team gathered around Harry's fallen form. Andrew Kirke had heard his fevered apologies and placed his arm on his shoulder consolingly.

"Cheer up, Dernon. We all make mistakes." Vernon knelt by Harry.

"Someone help me carry him to Madame Pompfrey's." Angelina grabbed Harry's legs while Vernon grabbed his arms. As he opened his hands to take them, the Snitch flew out and fluttered about Harry. "Which reminds me," Vernon reminded with a malicious smile. "That's 190-0, my favour."


	3. Severus Snape's Wild Ride

Vernon was profoundly regretful as he watched Harry, still unconscious from the bullet-like impact of the Snitch. Profoundly regretful that Madam Pomfrey's ward was full of potential witnesses if he were to wrap his hands around Harry's throat and just _squeeze_.

His transformation hadn't robbed him of the memories oh his life as Vernon Dursley, Muggle's Muggle and keen magicphobe. Vernon the wizard could recall his day-to-day life with Harry at 4 Privet Drive. Doing so made his perfectly-white teeth grind together with barely restrained anger. Oh yes, he remembered- of all the trouble he had gone through to raise him. Goddamn, Vernon had _plans _for the room under the stairs that he'd had to give it up for Harry's use! For ten years he'd gone through the trouble to feed and cloth his shameful nephew. And the thanks from Harry for all the Sacrifices he'd made to raise him? Years of insolence and inflating his sister like a cheap circus balloon! Vernon had to restrain himself from throttling Harry right there and then, witnesses be damned.

Vernon closed his eyes and began the relaxive meditation technique practised by the Hopi Indians of Hindostan for thousands of years. In his mind's eye, Vernon was standing waist-deep in water by a sandy beach…the cold waves washed over him…_whoosh…_

Calmed, Vernon stood up from his seat by Harry's bed and left the ward. As he was still wearing his Quidditch uniform, he began making his way towards the Slytherin common room.

"Um…_excusez-moi,_" a female voice spoke up from behind him. Vernon turned around, his mind calculating the possibilities of who the mysterious voice belonged to. One of Dumbledore's notorious hired assassins? It was very inept of her to announce her presence like that- or very confident. .

Standing there before him was no killer-for-hire, but an exquisitely beautiful blond girl. Why, it was none other than Fleur Delacour!

"_Bonjour_!," she said sweetly with a smile. "I saw you at ze Quidditch game and I just want to say," she stammered, clearly flustered at speaking with the student who had single-handedly thrashed the Gryffindor team, "_Magnifique_!"

__

Ordinarily, Vernon would have just brushed her off, yet…there was something about the amazingly pretty French girl that made him reconsider as he looked her over. She might be useful for my needs, Vernon thought to himself. As a pawn against Harry…or otherwise.

"Why thank you," he said modestly. "Fleur Delacour, right? Dernon Versley." He extended his hand, which she took. Fleur's hand was felt delicate- Vernon could shatter it with the slightest pressure from his adamantium grip. "My sources- erm…_friends _said that you were working at Gringotts…?

"I was, yes," the French girl answered, " but _malheursement, _my job was transferred to a centre in Pakistan to cut expenses," she answered, pronouncing the name _Pakheestan_. "All 'zhose moves in ze air! _Mon Dieu_, I 'ave nevehr zeen anything like 'zaht!,"

"Why thank you," Vernon said at this praise. "It wasn't too bad, considering that I'm out of practise. Anyway, what brings you to Hogwarts?"

"Oh! 'eadmaster Dumbledore has hired me as an in-class tutor to 'elp out some of ze more…_slow é _tudiants. I'm going to be beginning with the sixth years, actually."

"Is that so?," Vernon mused. "I look forward to see you in class, then. I'd love to stay and chat, but I've a positively _horrid _amount of Transfiguration homework," moaned Vernon, who'd completed it before McGonagall had finished writing out the required parchment length on the chalkboard.

"Oh! I understand. Bye!," Fleur said with a wave and a smile.

Interesting. Very interesting, Vernon pondered as he walked to the Slytherin common room.

%%%%%

The following morning at breakfast, it became clear that Vernon's prestige amongst the other students had gone through the roof. All throughout the meal, students would stop by where he was sitting at the Slytherin table and offer congratulations and high-fives on his solid trouncing of the Gryffindor team. Pretty girls would nudge their friends and point at him and whisper. So great was Vernon's reputation that he had usurped the _de facto _leadership of Slytherin from Draco, who was now eating lone glumly, having been deserted by Crabbe and Goyle ever since the whuppage they'd received on the Express.

__

Vernon spied Harry sitting down to eat following the morning's mail delivery. He seemed a little pale, but otherwise alright. Harry caught sight of Vernon looking at him. Vernon flashed a thumbs-up, which Harry returned after a slight pause. Good, he suspected nothing. Vernon's mind then turned to his next move. It had to be fast, otherwise the momentum he'd gained by p0wning Harry at Quidditch would be squandered. The answer came to him during Potions.

"Damnit Potter! That's the third virility brew you've ruined this class!," The Potions master screeched with indignation. "Even Longbottom remembered to use three mermaid scales instead of four! Tell me Potter, is your solution supposed to be bright orange!?" Harry stared down at his cauldron, his cheeks bright red from the humiliation of being shouted in front of the entire class.

"N-no, sir."

Snape marched to the chalk board and there wrote Harry's grade for the entire class to see: The big black donut- zero! Instantly the entire class burst into laughter- Draco looked cheered and Fleur had to suppress a giggle over where she was working with Ron, who, along with Hermione, were the only two not laughing themselves rotten.

At that moment, it was clear where Vernon had to strike next.

Snape.

%%%%%

That day after classes had finished, Vernon procured the Sky Streaker and a rather large burlap sack- two things he would need to begin his planned two-pronged assault against Snape. Mounting the broom, he sped away towards the south and before long was flying over his destination- Snape's house. To be honest, _house _was a misnomer. _Estate_ was a much more fitting title. Many students and even some of the staff would be greatly surprised to learn that Severus Snape was actually one of the wealthiest men in the Wizarding world, and his home certainly reflected his bank account. It was a Neo-Victorian with a few customized touches, presumably to reflect the Potion master's taste in Architecture, such as the Ionic columns by the entrance or the stained-glass windows, and not to be forgotten was were the pink neon letters that spelt out "Casa de Snape." Behind the mansion were field in which Black slaves cut sugarcane under the watchful eyes of overseers.

Vernon flew down some distance from the mansion and hid the Sky Streaker in some bushes before making his way over to Snape's home. As night was falling, this task was not particularly difficult. Vernon crept around to the side and jimmied a window open to let himself in. Quickly and quietly moving from room to room, Vernon ascertained that Snape's house was empty. Apparently, he hired the staff on a seasonal basis for during Christmas and summer, when the Potion master required their services.

Having free rein over the house, Vernon sprang into action. He poured cement mix into the toilets, placed dead animals under the floor boards and between the walls, took , stole Snape's TV and helped himself to some fried chicken in the fridge for good measure.

He was back at Hogwart's before anyone suspected anything amiss.

%%%%%

In his room, Vernon stashed the loot under his bed for safekeeping (though the TV required a fair bit of shoving) then began rummaging through trunk at the foot of the bed for something he could use at tomorrow's Potions class. The legendary sword Excalibur that'd pried from the cold dead hands of the Lady of the Lake? Too impractical. The cursed journal of Morden the Mad? That would be the equivalent of using a sledgehammer to kill a fly. The Lance of Longinus? Holy Relics tended to be fickle with their powers, tending only to work if you were pure of heart and all that. He kept it mostly for sentimental value anyway. Vernon continued rummaging through his trunk.

He smiled widely when he finally pulled out what he needed- The Mystic Kettle of Nackledirk! Forged from pure Mythril by the insane Dwarves of Borkwood, it had been purchased by a visiting Wizard from the Harry Potter Universe by the name of Mark Evans, who was on record as being one of the most fearsome wizards in either mythos. Evans brought the Kettle back with him following his vacation in Middle Earth, and it would have remained there in his possesion had he not made the unfortunate error of leaving his wand at home while taking the Kettle to show his friend Winnie the Wise. Dudley Dursley and his mates fell upon him with a most terrible vengeance while he was crossing the street to her house. Dudley, thinking the Kettle was some sort of jewellery on account of its platinum colouring, took it as a war trophy, which Muggle Vernon thence confiscated from his son the same evening. Upon his re-awakening, True Vernon, aware of its significance, had promptly taken it from the kitchen, where Petunia had been planning on using to make tea the following morning.

The sound of footsteps came pounding up the staircase. Vernon hastily put the Kettle back in the trunk. A third-year boy whose name Vernon hadn't bothered to remembered appeared there, visibly out of breath. Apparently He'd jogged the whole way up.

"Dernon… I say, Dernon! Come quickly down to the common room! You're needed!," he wheezed before disappearing as quickly as he'd appeared. Upon entering the common as asked, Vernon noted a great of commotion of shouting and general disorder centring around two Second-year boys.

"What's all this, then?" Vernon demanded to no one in particular. Instantly the room fell silent. One of the two boys spoke up.

"Well, sir, the problem is that this wanker 'ere stole my Firebolt (as the Firebolt was now several years old, the price had dropped so that more than a few students now owned one), he did," the first boy declared.

"Did not!," protested the second boy. "Everyone here knows that's my broom, which I've been using for Quidditch all year!"

"Liar!," the first boy shot back. Furiously they began screaming at each other once more.

"Silence!," Vernon shouted. Instantly there was again quiet in the Slytherin common room. "Are there any witnesses here who can vouch for either boy's story?," he asked of the crowd. Nobody stepped forward. "Very well, then," Vernon said with mock sadness. "I had hoped it wouldn't have come to this but you two leave me no choice. Does anyone here have a saw?" A boy stepped forward with a handsaw clutched in his hands. "Thank you." Then he turned to the neutral observer who had been holding the Firebolt in question. "May I have the broom, please?"

The second boy began to sweat profusions. "W-what are you going to do with that, sir?" he stammered.

"Saw it in half. That way you'll both have a broom…or part of one anyway." he replied. Vernon then began aligning the saw along the Broom's shaft for an even cut down the middle.

"Stop, stop! Don't destroy my Firebolt.. I'd rather the other boy have it than to see it wrecked." said the second boy, practically in tears.

His pleas had made it clear that it had been the first boy had stolen the broom. He was sentenced to thirty lashes with the Cat-o-Nine Tales Finch kept in his office and a month of scrubbing the common room floor.

Vernon smirked. Justice had been served.

%%%%%

"Simmer down class," Snape told them from his desk as Potions class was nearing its end for the day. He had assigned them a fairly complex ginseng designed to improve one's…ahem…amorous strength. Vernon watched the Potion master take a sip from his tea, then return to marking papers. Vernon looked down beside him where he'd smuggled in The Mystic Kettle of Nackledirk, which was currently boiling on a portable hot plate which he'd thus far managed to keep hidden.

"I'll be right back," Snape growled as he stood up and excused himself. "No slacking off." Snape marched out the door, leaving the class unattended. Looking about him and noting everyone there absorbed in their work, Vernon took the Kettle, stood up and carefully made his way to Snape's desk at the head of the classroom. There he poured the Kettle's contents into his teacup, careful not to spill a single drop. Once it was full, Vernon returned to his desk, and not a moment later Snape returned, glaring at the students, searching their expressions for signs of mischief. He sat down and reached for his teacup and slowly brought it to his lips…

The normally dignified Potion master doubled over and spat out his tea in a dark mist. The other students looked up from their work and stared at their teacher with wonder. Seeing his cue, Vernon stood up.

"Professor Snape, Sir, are you alright?"

Snape picked up his desk, held it over his head and chucked it at Vernon, who nimbly jumped aside. The desk smashed against the opposite wall, leaving a huge dent and falling with a mighty crash.

Snape had fallen under the Kettle's power- whoever drank tea brewed from it fell into a blind rage, impervious to reasoning or compassion, attacking the person they perceived responsible for the wretched brew. His eyes glowed bright red and his lips pulled back in an enraged snarl.

"Stand back class! I'll take care of this!," Vernon shouted. The students spread out and formed a circle around the two. Seeing that Snape had his wand in hand, Vernon drew back his robe and drew the Gustav II Adolf in a single swift movement. Several pretty girls swooned, while the less attractive ones watched, unmoved.

"_Infernus Exportum_!," Snape screamed while pointing his wand. The blazing hex. A huge elephant-sized fireball shot out of Snape's wand and hurtled toward Vernon, threatening to burn him with to cinders like he had the Sorting Hat.

"_Defensor Aquarius_!," countered Vernon with the water shield charm. A blue semi-circle of light bearing the crest of the water God Poseitune appeared in front of him. Snape's fireball hissed like a candle being put out with water and vanished harmlessly when it met Vernon's barrier. Next, with a shout of "shovenius!" Snape performed the displacement charm. Vernon found himself thrown violently backwards in the air. In a feat that would have made any trapeze artist proud he landed on his feet- only to see the enraged Snape charging towards him.

Taking the initiative, Vernon halted the Potion master with a series of devastating blows to his midsection. Having stopped Snape's assault, Vernon knew it was time to take it to the endgame. Seizing Snape's coller with his left hand, he drew back his right fist and relentlessly began pummelling him. POW! POW! POW! Again and again Vernon's fist smacked his House Head's face until it was a raw bloody mess. All around them the students gasped and watched with amazement at the spectacle of their professor getting owned. At long last Vernon released his captive and allowed Snape to slump to the floor.

"Hey, Snape! Here's a formula for you: 1 parts your face and equal parts my fist equals one sorry Potion master!," Vernon crowed. He reached into his robe and produced a pair of Okely sunglasses. "C'mere Snape. You and me is goin' fo' a ride," he said as put them on. He reached down to grab a fistful of Snape's hair-

And stared in surprise when they slipped out of his grasp like a bar of soap. Snape's oily locks had the texture of eels swimming in a bucket of motor oil. Vernon grabbed something decidedly firmer- Snape's leg- and dragged him out the door, with the breathless class following close behind.

%%%%%

When the class at last caught up with Vernon and the semi-conscious Snape, they found him outside near the near, snapping on a leg shackle on Snape's leg that was attached by a length of chain to his broom, the Sky Streaker. There was a collective gasp as Vernon took his seat and took off- with Snape dragging behind him! Flying low to the ground, Vernon relished the sound of Snape's screams of pain as his body was dragged over the rocks and soil of the Hogwart's environs.

"Having fun, Snape?" Vernon called over his shoulder. Snape made no answer- at least, no intelligible one. "Hope you've got a potion for grass stains!" A few moments later they completed their first lap around the castle. Vernon made a slight deviation and headed for the lake. Soon they were over it and Vernon caught her Snape's bubbled screams and curses as he was dragged across it. "You know, seeing as how you wash your hair so rarely, you may not love water, Professor, but from the looks of it" Vernon cackled, "it sure loves you!" They completed their second revolution of the castle.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh Nooooooooo!," Snape howled when he saw where Vernon was taking him next- the Forbidden Forrest. Flying over the tree tops, the sound of Snape alternating being hit with branches or scratched by pine trees was a veritable symphony with nature as its orchestra- sort of like one of those CDs you can buy of rushing waterfalls or birds chirping.

Vernon decided that he'd made his point and descended along with the battered Potion master near where the crowd had been watching, which had grown considerably as other students caught a glimpse from the windows. As Vernon got off his broom, Albus Dumbledore himself made his way through the students and approached him.

"Mr. Dernon Versley, may I have a moment with you in my office?"

"Sure thing, headmaster," Vernon said. He looked back over his shoulder at the beaten Snape. "Wash your hair, you filthy communist hippy," he sneered before following Dumbledore into the castle.

%%%%%

"I would be very grateful if you would recount the events leading up to you engaging my Potion master in fistcuffs then dragging about the grounds." Dumbledore said to him across his desk. His expression was neutral, his tone patient. Vernon told him a reasonably accurate depiction of the events- omitting the part about the Mystic Kettle involvement, of course.

"So you attacked a teacher because for some mysterious reason he went mad?," Dumbledore inquired when he'd finished.

"Yes," Vernon answered.

"And you believed him to be a danger to the other students?"

"Yes."

"And you thought this was a sufficient reason to attack him?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore paused and clasped his hands together, seemingly lost in thought. He spoke again. "Mr. Vursley, I'm afraid I have no choice…" Vernon tensed. If he was expelled, his contact with Harry would be cut off and he would fail Voldemort's mission. Would he have to take on Dumbledore here, right in his office? Even he couldn't guess the outcome of _that _fight. Vernon's hand drifted down to Gustav II Adolf's holster. "…But to award Slytherin 20 points."

His hand went away.

"What? House points?," asked a confused Vernon.

"Why not? You displayed a selfless concern for others in the face of danger,"answered Dumbledore with a fatherly smile.

"But…Professor Snape's a _teacher_!"

"Indeed. But let me tell you, Dernon," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye, "Danger can come in many guises."

As he left Dumbledore's office, Vernon had to wade through a crowd of eager students who bombarded him with questions and congratulations. As he made his way through, he caught a glimpse of Fleur there among them. As he moved by her, he whispered by her ear, "the password is 'Imperator," and walked down the hall casually.

%%%%%

Owing to the age lines he had drawn at either entrance, Vernon was alone in the his section of the Slytherin boy's dormitory. Waiting and reflecting on the day's events. What a devastating mental blow it must have been for Harry to witness the teacher he hated most to be humiliated in such a manner. He grinned a predator's smile. Now, when he tightened Harry's screws it was going to be twice as effective- at least. Footsteps were coming up the staircase.

Fleur Delacour stepped over the age line and entered the room. They both knew why she was here. Without a word she climbed onto his bed and began passionately kissing him. His arms locked around her back and he fell back on the bed with Fleur on top of him. She then sat up and began undoing the buttons on her robe- when the sound of footsteps again came up the stairwell- someone where high-heels, from the sound of it. Fleur squeaked and got off Vernon. The mysterious figure soon appeared at the stairway entrance: a blond woman wearing a white coat as well as lipstick, eyeliner, rouge and highlights.

"Hi," she said by way of introduction. "Are you the guy that called?"

"Vernon, 'oo 'ees this?" asked a confused Fleur.

"Yeah, that's me," Vernon answered the new woman. To Fleur: "Listen, sweetheart, I wanted our first time to be extra special so I sent an owl to Hogsmeade and hired an…assistant to help us out. Fleur, this is Misty. Misty, Fleur." The latter woman was on the bed now. Fleur looked hesitant. Vernon saw this and came up with an ice-breaker. He touched Fleur's shoulder.

"I want you," he whispered in her ear with a voice soaking with gentle seduction," to kiss her."

%%%%%

When the three figures at long last ran out of stamina and drifted off to sleep, Tommy Perkins waited a few more minutes just to be safe and took off the Invisibility Cloak where'd been standing in a corner.

"So that's how it's done," he murmered in amazement. Dernon can be rough, he thought, but he came through with the promised reward in exchange for digging up info on Harry. Careful not to awaken him, he slipped the cloak back on and went down the staircase.


	4. The Profoundly Profitable Plundering of ...

_Chapter Four: The Profoundly Profitable Plundering of Gringotts_.

Harry Potter walked aimlessly through the Great Hall. He clasped his hands together in an futile measure to stop their shaking. His Robes were wrinkly and disheveled, having obviously been slept in the night before. He looked very much like a hobo respectable people kept their distance from. When he wandered past them, students would turn and whisper excitedly with their friends. What had happened to the noble Harry Potter, the boy who'd killed the Basilisk and fought Voldemort himself? They would snicker at how the son of Lily and James had let himself go.

Harry spotted a familiar face at last: Ron. He shuffled over to where his friend was sitting and trying to study from a book.

"Hey Ron," Harry greeted. Ron looked up to reveal a weary expression.

"Hi Harry," he returned weakly. Harry didn't notice Ron's lack of energy.

"Listen, can we talk?"

"Sure, mate," Ron answered, closing the book. "But make it quick. We've got a Charms test tomorrow and the new theories it covers may as well be in Albanian for all I understand them. What's up?"

"Well..." Harry began. How could he compress the events of the last few days into emotions and words? Professor Snape getting bitchowned by Dernon, Gryffindor's disastrous loss to Dernon, the Sorting Hat setting itself ablaze on Dernon's head, Dernon's practically overnight huge following amongst the students, Dernon's awe-inspiring fashion sense, Dernon, Dernon, Dernon... "Well, to begin with, I suppose it's that Dernon fellow. It's like he's been right in the centre of everything that's happened this year."

Ron's eye began to twitch.

"What's more," Harry went on, "he's all everyone talks about. 'I say good chap, did you see how Dernon used that right hook on Snape? The Potion Master was bloody well bloody by the time he was through with him, I tell you that!'" Harry said, imitating the voice of an average Hogwarts student. "Ron, I'll be honest with you: I don't know what I'd do if Dernon and I quarreled. Draco I could handle because our power levels were more or less equal. But on the express, do you know what I saw? Dernon had just finished giving Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle a sound thrashing. What if he somehow got annoyed with me or-"

Ron stood up and threw the book down. "Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP, you git! Look at you, you're a nervous wreck at the thought of crossing wands with Dernon when so far he's been a gentleman to everyone except when someone's foolishly provoked him," Ron exploded. "So you're not top dog anymore Harry. Boo bloody hoo. In the war for Hogwarts' Hearts & and Minds you're suddenly number two."

"Ron, please, it's not like that at all," Harry protested, scarcely believing that his best friend was rebuffing him.

"You know what, Harry? If I was the celebrity then, I'd be pretty jealous too if people started paying attention to someone else." Ron snatched his book up and stomped off down the hall as a speechless Harry watched.

&&&&&

Though he had neither proximity nor eye contact, Vernon Dursley's powers as a Legimens were so great that he could have delved into the thoughts and emotions of the guy working the Shanghai McDonald's drive-through had he so chosen. Thus, monitoring Harry's mind during his conversation with Ron had been pathetically easy. _Shouldn't have skipped those Occlumency lessons with Snape, Harry_!, Vernon thought to himself with a wicked grin. Speaking of the still-unconscious Potion Master, Vernon had earlier gone to Madame Pomfrey's ward to leave a get-well-soon gift: a (anti-anti-muggle technology jinxed) CD player complete with headphones that he'd carefully put around the still-unconscious teacher's ears. Pomfrey had given the go-ahead when Vernon told her it was calming music hippies meditated to. The reality was quite different: two songs played played endlessly on an infinite loop. Vernon snickered. _Hope you like Evanescence and Avril Lavigne, Snape_.

His thoughts returned to the information he'd obtained just now. _Well, now! Do I detect some dissent in the Potter camp_?, he thought gleefully. In Vernon's mind's eye, he was seeing a dramatic scene in which Harry was about to be killed by a Death Eater, only to be saved by Ron at the last moment.

"Ron, you saved me," imaginary-Harry thanked as Ron helped him onto his feet.

"Yes, but," imaginary-Ron said coldly as he pointed his wand at Harry. "Only so I could kill you myself."

But Vernon was getting ahead of himself. There was much work ahead if fantasy was to become reality. He walked over to his now-empty bed (Misty had left earlier that morning after receiving her fee while Fleur departed sometime later after extracting Vernon's promise to meet again soon.) and reached under it to pull out the dossiers the pro-Voldemort elements within Hogwarts had provided him shortly after his arrival. The critically important papers had detailed profiles on each and every person and Hogwarts, from Dumbledore himself down to the lowliest House Elf. He extracted Ron's file and eagerly began reading. With an intellect surpassing a Pentium VI supercomputer, Vernon's mind took only a few seconds to absorb the information on each page.

"So Ron's family is so poor, they use water on their Corn Flakes, eh?" Vernon muttered to himself when he reached the last page. "We also have some rather ugly unresolved jealousy issues with Harry to work with. Last but certainly not least," Vernon concluded as he shut the file, "our boy Ronald's never had himself a lady friend."

Vernon knew what he had to do. He slid the dossiers but under his bed and left the dormitories and went down the stairs, pausing to dispel the age line he'd created the night before.

Downstairs in the common room, the male Slytherins, barred from their rooms by Vernon's age line, had been forced to spend the night sleeping on the cold, hard floor. Of course, owing to Vernon's huge popularity, this change of accommodations was universally accepted without complaint (that, and nobody wanted to risk angering him.) As Vernon made his entrance, the students rushed up asking how he was and if that really was Fleur Delacour leaving earlier this morning. Vernon would have liked nothing more than to give them with a lurid blow-by-blow account of the previous night, but there was pressing business at hand- yet Vernon was not so busy that he didn't have time to ask for some warm water when he spied Draco Malfoy curled up asleep in a corner sucking his thumb (a habit he'd picked since that fateful day on the Express.) Instantly a second year girl came out of the lavatories and presented him with a cup which he accepted. Before leaving, Vernon, careful not to awaken the pale boy, inserted Draco's free hand into the water.

&&&&&

Vernon snuck off into the Forbidden Forest, confident of not being seen. He walked some distance inside to be certain of his solitude before drawing Gustave II Adolf.

"_Ianua Tolkeinio_!," Vernon shouted. A red ball of light shot out of his wand and hovered above the ground. It expanded after a few moments until it was large enough for a man to step through- which is exactly what Vernon did. He opened his eyes, and he was in Middle-Earth, near the orc-lairs of the misty mountains, if he recalled the geography of this fandom correctly. Vernon started walking. He knew he was getting close when he passed the outside camps where orcs and their human slaves stared at him, not certain what to make of this human traveler who marched through their territory without the slightest hint of fear. They left Vernon unmolested- even the orcs could sense the immense power waves emanating from him. Vernon at last reached the cave where the orc-king resided. The two orc royal guards posted at either side of the entrance-hole and wearing plundered Elf armour, crossed their spears to deny him entry.

"What business could a human have with Ithguk, lord of the orc-host?," one demanded of him.

"Tell your master an old friend has come to call on him," Vernon answered calmly in the Westron tongue- a language with which he was well familiar. The other guard threw back his head and laughed a squawking orc chortle.

"Our king? Friends with a human? Not likely. Clear out before I change my mind about not running you through on sight like I should have." At this rebuff, Vernon reached into a pocket and produced a metal fragment with a mysterious crest on it and handed to one of the guard.

"Show that to your lord and he will recognize me." The orc guard regarded the fragment suspiciously before reluctantly disappearing into the depths of the cave. He soon returned wearing a more hospitable expression, if such a thing is possible for an orc. The guard whispered something to his companion. They then both bowed before Vernon.

"Our apologies, master Vernon. It has been so long since we have seen you and and we feared you for one of Elrond's spies."

"I understand. May I see your king?," Vernon asked.

"Of course. Follow us." Vernon wasn't annoyed at being treated as an enemy by the orcs. To be honest, he reflected as he followed the guards to the throne room, orcs were a rather humble and likable folk once you got to know them. The image of orcs as bloodthirsty savages was the result of Elf propaganda the rest of Middle Earth had blindly believed. Vernon passed through dark cavern halls lit with lit only by torches. The guards swung open a great wooden door and the three entered the throne room. In the center was the king of the orcs seated on his throne crafted from elf-bones. Attendants, servants and advisors all standing nearby, regarding Vernon curiously. Seeing his guest, the king stood up and embraced Vernon.

"Ahh, Vernon my friend!, you've finally returned. How many years has it been?" the king greeted enthusiastically.

"Far too many, "Vernon returned with a smile. It had indeed been a long while since he'd visited this fandom.

"I was overjoyed when my guardsman showed me that piece of Eramor the Strong's shield. Oh, the memories," the king said nostalgically. "So tell me, do you still go by Vernon Dursley on the other side?"

"Yeah. Not the best name in the world but it fools the muggles." The king looked confused at this word. "It's the term for non-magic people over there," he explained. "So how are you holding up?"

"Not bad, not bad. The other week we caught a elf trade mission trying to get across the mountains. We had some fun that night, I tell you. But we can talk later when I have a banquet in your honour tonight." Vernon assumed a pained expression.

"Ooh. Wish I could stay but I'm on a job from Voldemort right now and I need a favour if I'm gonna get it done." The orc king slapped a friendly hand down on his shoulder.

"Anything for a friend. Whaddaya need?"

"Celebrian."

"Done." The king turned to a nearby attendant. "Bring forth the Elf-toy." The servant nodded and scurried off into the bowels of the cave.

"You should consider visiting the other side someday. Sure the people would freak out at you being an orc but we have disguise charms for that sort of thing. It must get monotonous hanging out in this cave all day."

"Me? Nah, I like it here. A world without Hobbits, Balrogs, Elfs or Rings of Power? Sounds pretty dull."

The king's lackey had returned with Celebrian. Vernon took one look at her and quickly turned back to his friend.

"Woah! We need to do something about those tattoo and other...enhancements.," Vernon said.

"Whatever you say. I'll have one of the shamens restore her original appearance." The king gestured to one of the orcs waiting by the throne, who came over and raised his wand while speaking magical incantations. A white light surrounded the Elf women. When it faded, her appearance had changed to her original non-arrestable-for-public-indecency form. The king snapped his fingers when he suddenly remembered something.

"That's right, we still have the gown she was wearing when Manet brought her from Rivendell. I'll have it put on her." No sooner had he spoken these words when said gown was slipped over Celebrian's head by a slave. "Alright, she's ready to go. Bring her back in one piece, alright? And come visit again soon," said the king. Vernon nodded. "I'll have her back before long. Thanks again!" Vernon took the Elf-maiden in hand and led her out of the cave.

&&&&&

"...And then you take him to this room I'm going to show you," Vernon finished explaining as they walked through the halls of Hogwarts. As they did, students would would turn and stare at the amazing beautiful Elf women Vernon was with. Was she a new student? His new girlfriend?

"This Harry, how big is he?," Celebrian asked. Vernon shrugged. "No, not particularly. He's five-foot something, about average tallness for a teenager."

"I wasn't talking about height."

Vernon sucked in his breath. "I wouldn't know." They reached were he'd been leading them- the room of requirement. Vernon opened the door to reveal a plain room of bare walls, a cot in one corner with a nightstand next to it. Hanging on a coat rack was a female Hogwarts uniform. The rest of the chamber was empty. "This is where you'll be staying until I come get you," Vernon told her as the former queen walked inside. "Just remember your cues and stay quiet unless someone talks to you," Vernon instructed from the doorway.

"What am I to do until then?," Celebrian asked. She suddenly began looking over Vernon with renewed interest and a haunted look in her eyes. She took a step towards him. "What about you? May I play with you? May Celebrian, Elf who loves Vernon's-"

"No!," Vernon cut in quickly. "Just be patient until it's time." He caught a glimpse of what looked like It looked like a stick painted black. "I'm sure you'll find some way to pass the time," he said before shutting the door. The first part of his anti-Ron plan was under way. It was time to begin the second. Vernon went to see Fleur.

Though the French girl was technically not a Hogwarts student, she was residing with the Hufflepuffs. Vernon made his way into the Great Hall and down a staircase. He walked through several passageways until he saw the entrance portrait at the end of a deserted hall. He ducked out of sight and pulled out Gustave II Adolf. "_Invisibili Disparatus_, " he whispered to perform the invisibility charm. He tapped the tip of his wand on his head and instantly became invisible. Now it was only a matter of waiting until a Hufflepuff came along to open the door. Vernon didn't even have to wait a minute before a fourth year boy came down the stairs and approached the painting of a stern-looking woman with a butch haircut and sour expression standing in a picket line brandishing a sign reading _Hey ho hey ho western culture's got to go_!

"Revolution," the boy said.

"Damn right, revolution," the woman in the painting said while swinging aside to open the entrance. "It's exactly what we sisters need to get away from the oppressive-male dominated culture forced on us. Yeah, you'd better run inside..." Vernon slipped in alongside the Hufflepuff boy when he dashed in.

The interior of the Hufflepuff common room was splendidly decadent. Games of poker with real money were played well in earnest on the floor- just as Vernon entered, one player won more money than Arthur Weasly had made in ten years working at his entry-level desk job. Around the crackling fireplace, a group of radical hippie tree loving communists were eagerly discussing the prospects of a worldwide revolution and how their endorsed candidate, John Kerry, was doing in the polls. In another corner, a man dressed in a white suit with matching top hat stood in a corner brandishing a diamond-studded cane while a group of women dressed in slinky outfits stood nearby. The rest of the common room was occupied by students drinking irresponsibly and passing out on the floor at various intervals. Vernon would have gladly joined the fun, but seeing Fleur was more important. He slipped past the people in the common room and made his way to the girl's dormitory staircase. He began dashing up the stairs-

And cursed when the anti-boys sorcery triggered and caused the steps beneath his feet to fold down to create a slide, making him tumble slid to the foot of the stairs. He quickly got back on his feet and pulled out Gustave II Adolf, which was somewhat difficult considering that he was still invisible. With a whisper of "_Incredibon Arachnus_,"" he cast the wallcrawler charm on him self and began crawling along the staircase walls, moving up in spite of the unusable stairs. At last he reached the top of the stairs and set his feet back on the ground. The dormitories were empty save for Fleur Delacour reading a book on her bed. "_Invisbili Dispellium_, "Vernon said to cancel the effects of the invisibility charm. Now visible, he moved to where Fleur was reading. The French girl heard him approaching and looked up from her book. She smiled and sat up when she saw who it was. She reached out and embraced him, with Vernon returning the gesture. "_Mon Dieu_!" Dernon, it has been so _longue_. All day I've been thinking about last _nuit_ and how _magnifique_ it was. "Can we-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know I was fantastic. Listen Fleur, baby," Vernon cut in. "Remember how you worked at Gringotts? You would happen to have a map of it, would you?" Fleur seemed confused with his request. After a brief hesitation, she answered.

"_Oui._ They give to each employee a map so we don't get lost underground. I keep mine in my purse by _le_ nightstand. _Mon chere_ Dernon, you can borrow..." Her words trailed off as Vernon opened her bag before she'd finished speaking. Vernon dug through her things until at last he pulled out the map, all folded up like a tourist brochure.

"Thanks, babe," Vernon said, stuffing it into his pocket.

"_Vous êtes_ welcome, Dernon. Now, the Weird Sisters are performing at the Hogs Head and I was hoping we could go...?," she asked, her big eyes shining with hope.

"Sorry slut, but we're through."

It took a few moments for his words to sink in.

"WHAT!?"

"C'mon Fleur be reasonalble- we would never have worked out," he said laughing as he walked out with the sound of her sobbing following him down the stairs.

&&&&&

"...Honestly, Hermione, you would have done the same thing. The way he was fretting over his loss of status was just appalling. 'Oh no! Whatever shall I do if Dernon becomes cross with me?,'" Ron mocked.

"My ears are burning...," Dernon announced from behind them, startling the trio. They were sitting at a table with five chairs. Dernon and his mysterious lady companion with silver hair invited themselves to sit down. Celebrian took the seat adjacent to Harry. "So what's going on, guys?" Harry's Uncle asked friendlily.

"Well, Ron and Harry were discussing some...issues they've been having recently," Hermione spoke hope, hoping that some normal conversation would help heal the rift between her two friends.

"Ah yes, Harry Potter. I hear so much about you in the halls. You're quite famous you know. We should actually talk more, I'd love to get to know you better," Vernon said. To the surprise of the trio, he thrust he hand across the table at Harry for a handshake, which the other boy accepted cautiously. Vernon somehow avoided the temptation of squeezing his hand into a bone-shattering grip. The gesture finished and both withdrew their hands.

"Famous? Not as much as he used to be," Ron muttered darkly from where he was sitting.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded.

"So who's your friend?," Harry asked, grateful to have something to talk about other than his problems with Ron and genuinely curious about the incredibly beautiful Elf woman sitting next to him.

"Glad you asked. This is Sally Brian. She's a transfer student just like me. Isn't that right, Sally?"

"Yes," answered a bored Celebrian. She couldn't have cared less about the people she was meeting- her only concern being an idle wondering of when she could return to the cave of the orc king. "I should caution that Sally is from a very open culture that's quite different from our society dominated by sexually-repressed right-wing Christian fundamentalists, so you may encounter some...cultural differences around her. Sally, why don't you _formally introduce yourself _to Harry?" Vernon said, stressing her cue words. Celebrian's eyes opened wide and she turned to the boy seated next to her.

"Why hello there, Harry," the former Elf queen said in a sultry voice. Harry's heart skipped a beat. "How about you and me ditch these losers and hook up in your room," she seductively suggested while running a finger up his chest.

Harry practically swallowed his Adam's Apple.

"Uh, sure, ok." He and Celebrian stood up and headed off towards Gryffindor towers. There was a silence at the table as the remaining three watched them dissapear.

"It figures," said a sour Ron."Without out even trying he gets money, fame and girls- it's all just handed to him. There is no justice in the universe."

"Oh, cheer up Ron. I'm sure things will turn up for you soon," Hermione comforted.

"Yeah, Ron," added Vernon. "After all, nothing lasts forever- not even for Harry the boy wonder. Now if you'll excuse me," he said while standing up. "I have some matters of a financial nature to attend to."

&&&&&

Everything was ready. He had his Sky Streaker, the Blessed Sack of Haul, which was as light as a feather to lift and carry no matter what was stuffed inside and last but not least, the black ski mask he was wearing.

In the dead of night, no one would notice a lone broom flying off towards the south, and Vernon had taken measures to make sure no one would miss him- namely, a straw dummy stuffed into his bed that was wearing his pyjamas.

On and on he flew. On a regular broom the trip would have taken all night.

But the Sky Streaker was no ordinary broom.

Soon Vernon was above his destination- Diagon Alley. He swiftly descended a few blocks away blocks away from where he was heading. Upon reaching the city street he began marching with a quick pace with the broom tucked under one arm until he reached it: Gringotts Wizarding Bank. He paused before the great stone doors to gather his confidence (the goblin who usually stood guard there must have gone on a coffee break or something.) Right then, no turning back now, Vernon thought to himself. Then he quietly opened the door and dispatched the two guards standing quick series of karate chops before anyone noticed. Vernon pulled out Gustave II Adolf and shouted: "Alright then, nobody moves, nobody gets their head 'davred off. Simple as that. The one hundred goblins working the counters looked up from their ledgers and accounting-books and stared at this masked bandit who had invaded their stronghold. An armed robbery of Gringotts? Why, such a thing had not been attempted in centuries! Outrageous!

Just then, what seemed like thousands of goblin guards rushed forward to attack Vernon. Under his masked, he smirked. It had been so long since he'd a serious test. Without the slightest pause he dashed forward to meet his foes. Fortunatley for Vernon, he had learned an elite form of martial arts designed for use when fighting multiple opponents when he'd vacationed at the sunny Finnish beach-resort town of Rovaniemi. Even as he fought, with his fist or Gustave II Adolf lashing out, Vernon was nostalgically recalling his memories of suntanning himself while sipping Piña Coladas bought from Lapp bartenders.

With a final kick the last conscious globlin guard's body smashed against a wall and slumped down to the floor.

"Well then, if you're finished we can move on to the next step. Namely, you all being put somewhere out of the way. Let's go! Towards that door!," Vernon instructed harshly while gesturing with his wand. The goblins quickly assessed that it was in their best interests to obey and began filing towards to door in question- which turned out to be a rather smallish supply closet.

"But sir! How are all supposed to fit inside? There's simply not enough space for all a hundred of us!," complained one goblin.

"Obviously you've never seen those pictures of 34675439567936 drunk college students stuffing themselves into a phone booth and succeeding. Just follow their example," Vernon told him with a cruel laugh.

In the end, the goblins ended up fitting into the closet with the aid of several liberal applications of Vernon's boot here and there. He seized a random goblin right before padlocking the door.

"You, you're coming with me. Get on the broom," the wizard ordered. The goblin knew what was good for him and obeyed. Vernon mounted the Sky Streaker and flew them towards one of the cavernous entrances leading to the underground vaults.

Vernon had perfectly committed Fleur's map to memory and guided his broom to the section with the richest vaults. His Sky Streaker sped down paths that would have taken hours or even days for any robber who made it past the guards to travel. Gringotts security measures had been defeated by one man with a broom, a map, and l33t fighting skills.

Vernon and his goblin hostage set down by vault number 220- the one owned by the richest company in the wizarding world- the Rapunzel's Spinning Wheel corporation, which was often accused of exploiting Hungarian child labour in their factories.

"Open the vault," Vernon gruffly ordered the goblin and pointed Gustave II Adolf at him to get the message across. The goblin meekly nodded, approached it and began stroking the vault door. The vault melted away, revealing RSW's glittering ill-gotten galleons now his for the plundering."

"Good boy. Now your job is over," Vernon told the goblin before knocking him unconscious with a well-aimed blow to the back of the head. Vernon then took the Blessed Sack of Haul and got to work.

He was back at Hogwarts before anyone noticed anything amiss.

&&&&&

As he was wont to lately, Ron's expression was glum as he loitered in a hall simply watching people go by. Harry and Hermione were nowhere in sight. Perfect, Vernon thought as he approached him.

"Hey Ron," Harry's uncle greeted. "Why the long face?" Ron sighed.

"My life sucks, how's that for a start?" the red haired boy said.

"Is that so? Then cheer up, Ronald, because I think I've got something that'll turn that frown, upside-down!" Vernon pulled out of his pocket the check that was worth more than Arthur Weasly would make if he lived to be a million and showed it to his Ron.

His jawed dropped. A drop of saliva fell to the carpet. He finally succeeded in forming a coherent sentence after several failed attemps.

"All that...for me?"

"Yep," Vernon said. He pulled it away when Ron reached for it. "Ah-ah-ah! There's a catch."

"What?"

"You must promise never to have anything to do with Harry Potter again- that means never seeing him, never talking with him, not even making eye contact."

"B-but Harry's my friend...," Ron protested, clearly conflicted whether to choose money or friendship.

"Ron, let me share some words of wisdom with you. First you get the money. Then when you get the money, you get the power. Then when you get the power, then you get the women."

Money, power, women...all his life Ron had been denied these things and had grown up craving them. Now here he was, and all he had to do to get these things was to say...

"Fine then," Ron said, accepting the check. "What good has Harry ever brought me? None, that's what. Nice doing buissness with you, Dernon."

"Believe me, the pleasure is all mine," Vernon said, before making an excuse and walking away. _I love it when a plan comes together_, he thought to himself in satisfaction while the newly-rich Ron stared adoringly at his new money.


End file.
